


i'd bury diamonds just for you

by desastrista



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different Powers, F/M, M/M, Multi, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 17:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16917366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desastrista/pseuds/desastrista
Summary: Mark is photographing a band on tour, Sam is working at the AM, and Damien is still struggling to adjust to life without his abilities...That is, until a chance encounters swaps all their abilities. The three of them must work to return things back to normal, but what is normal for a group like this?





	i'd bury diamonds just for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buhdderkupp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buhdderkupp/gifts).



> This is a Yuletide gift for buhdderkupp, who requested Sam/Mark/Damien and a different powers AU. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to try writing in a new fandom! I hope you enjoy this gift.

Life on tour had its own rhythm. Long days on the road. Experiencing the local attractions, or lack thereof: Mark had seen the Grand Canyon and also America's second largest ball of twine. The anxieties and excitement of setting up and practicing before a show. The raw kinetic energy of the concert and the slow coming down from the high with the band. 

The constant attempt to find a place open after 11 pm that wasn't a bar.

They had failed in that quest tonight and had instead opted -- not for the first time this tour -- to go back to the hotel and order room service. 

Mark grimaced as he looked at the prices. “I think alcoholism is cheaper.”

“Ah, young grasshopper, do not complain about the highway robbery of room service until you pay ten dollars for a banana.” Clark, the bassist and other reason they couldn't go to bars, had walked over to join him in inspecting the menu. Mark looked over to the rest of the band; they were gathered near the bed on the other side of the room. This was his opportunity. Mark took a deep breath.

“You've been clean for what, three years now?” 

Clark nodded, his attention still on the menu.

“So when do you get to say that you _were_ an alcoholic?” 

Mark desperately wanted to use the past tense about himself, but he'd only been clean for a few weeks and three years of it seemed like an eternity. Clark hesitated. “I still crave a beer whenever I'm stressed, whenever I'm happy, whenever I think about anything long enough. I still don't trust myself to be around people who are drinking. And until I can do that, how can I say that I'm not an alcoholic anymore?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Mark tried to keep his voice light. Defeat came through instead.

“Look,” Clark shuffled, evidently only slightly more comfortable giving this advice than Mark felt receiving it. “I know what you're going through.” Mark thought about the nightmares, the lost three years of his life, the people he had left behind in order to not feel like his life was falling behind. Clark wasn't technically correct, but Mark at least could appreciate the sentiment. “If there's ever anything you need to talk about --” 

“I know the motel room to find you,” Mark finished the sentence with a haltering laugh. In a more serious tone, he added, “Thanks man.”

Clark nodded before rejoining the rest of the band. Mark stayed where he had been standing. 

An offer to talk if he needed it. Joanie and Sam had both offered the same and he had ignored both equally. Somehow Mark had the feeling he wouldn't be talking to Clark about this again anytime soon. 

He had told his sister that taking this job was going to help him get a fresh start on his life. But he couldn't leave his alcoholism behind and he couldn't leave his trauma either. His past had sharp claws and they had sunk deep inside him. 

 

 

A few days later and a few hundred miles away, another atypical came to their show. 

That wasn't so unusual in and of itself. Mark had felt strange abilities coursing in him as he photographed the band. Usually he didn't know who it was in the crowd he felt, but so far Mark had been able to breath fire, control the temperature around him, and speak to small animals. 

(The only time he'd minded was the second time, when he caused the air around him to briefly get so cold he worried if the camera lens would crack. The third time he'd just learned that the venue had a rat problem and that rats did not know when to shut up.)

This time it was -- different.

He could feel the hair stand up on the back of his neck and his stomach twisting itself into knots. But he didn't feel any particular ability.

“Just don't hurt the camera, just don't break the camera,” he muttered to himself as he tried to get the perfect angle of Kayla unleashing herself on the drums. This camera cost about half his entire savings, and he _really_ didn't want to have to ask his sister for an emergency loan.

But the camera survived. In fact, the rest of the concert passed without incident. By the time it was over, Mark had all but forgotten about the other atypical in attendance. 

The show ended. The band started to pack up. The crowd slowly dispersed, except for a few fans who milled near the front, trying to get up close with the band.

One such fan was a young woman with curly hair who had made her way over to their lead singer, Dani. Mark walked over to the two of them slowly, not wanting to interrupt.

“I just love How You Look Tonight,” the woman gushed. It was by far their most popular song and Mark knew that Dani regretted writing it, saying it was too sappy for a break out hit. This woman apparently begged to differ. “How did you ever --”

Mark was only a few steps away when he stopped suddenly. So did this woman. 

“Oh,” she said, turning slowly to look him.

“Mark!” Dani called out. “Meet Catherine. She was an early Instagram follower of ours and really helped promote us when we were just starting out. Catherine, you've probably seen Mark's work. He's our official photographer this tour.”

Catherine reached out to shake his hand. She looked dazed and Mark suspected it was not related to any of his photographs. 

“You're like me,” she managed to say, smiling slightly.

“Uh," Mark stammered back. He could feel her ability running through him, stronger now than it had been earlier. Catherine was definitely the atypical he had felt during the show. But Dani and the rest of the band -- to whom Mark had not breathed a word about his ability -- did not seem like the ideal audience to discuss this fact in more detail. "I guess --"

“No,” Catherine said, slowly, as if Mark still somehow still hadn't caught her meaning. “You're _really_ like me.”

“Maybe we should talk, uh, alone.” 

“I'm sure you two will have a lot to talk about,” Dani laughed. “Just so you know, Catherine, though, Mark has a girlfriend.”

Mark felt his cheeks turn red, partially from his intentions being misunderstood, partially because he wasn't sure after their last few conversations he could still call Sam that. But he hadn't exactly spread that news far and wide. 

“Oh, no, not like that,” Catherine looked equally flustered and took a step back. “I really should go, anyway. It was so great to finally see you guys live, though! Come tour again soon!” 

On that final note, Catherine hurried back to the exit. Mark watched her go with a small pang of regret.

“Wish I could have spoken to her a little more,” he muttered, half to himself. 

“You'll have other opportunities to meet fans," Dani cuffed him on the shoulder. "Come on, let me see what you got.” 

Mark flipped through his photos to show Dani but his mind was elsewhere. It would have been nice to speak with another atypical again. Being around his sister and her patients-turned-friends, discussing abilities had been so _normal_. And now Mark didn't really have anyone to talk to about these things. It was surprisingly lonely. 

Also, he was curious what her ability was and why it had felt so different than any others he had experienced. But he resigned himself to probably never getting to figure that one out.

 

 

Things had not been going Damien's way. His car had been towed. He'd managed to get a job, which was a thing he had never had before but was _apparently_ kinda important. The electric company had been calling -- they were so annoying -- and threatening to cut off his power.

God, he missed his ability.

He kept this strange hope alive that he would wake up and things would suddenly be back to normal. He could tell his boss he quit and probably be rewarded with a nice bonus for his trouble. He could call the electricity company and this bill -- all his bills -- would become things of the past.

These were his fantasies now. In the past he could have dreamed a lot bigger, but without his ability, well. His ambitions had shrunk. 

Damien also thought a lot about Mark, jagged daydreams that didn't fit so easily with all those others. He didn't like to think about it.

It was getting late. Damien lay in the dark on his third-hand mattress and wondered which dream it would be tonight.

He closed his eyes and when he opened them asphalt stretched in front of him. Damien recognized the road -- just outside town, a favorite stretch of highway to drive whenever he had just wanted to get away. He appeared to be sitting in his old car.

This was a surprisingly vivid dream. 

And then he looked straight ahead and saw, right in front of him, the back of his own head. 

“Ok...this is trippy.” 

He didn't appear to hear what he had just said, which was probably a relief. In terms of the rather long list of people with whom Damien would like to avoid conversation, he himself was near the top.

This felt increasingly less like a dream. If he was going to dream about getting his car back, he wouldn't have gotten all weird about it.

There was actually something it did remind him of. Or someone. Mark. Describing his time trapped in the past. 

(Of course Damien would be reminded of Mark.)

There was a quiet jolt and Damien found himself suddenly staring at the ceiling of his apartment. For a long moment, he did nothing but watch the lazy circle of the fan blades above his bed.

Damien had spent so long thinking about what he would do if he got his ability back. And now, it seemed he had _someone's_ ability. Just not his own.

 

 

Sam liked keeping busy. Busy was good. Busy meant she was being productive. And being productive meant she was learning things that had the potential to help a lot of people. 

It also helped that being busy meant less time worrying about how Mark was doing without her, and less time for her to mentally pick at the scab that was their past together.

It helped that these days she had a lot of structure. It drove Joan a little crazy sometimes, just how much structure the AM had. Sam herself usually only had a few meetings during the day. These meetings ranged anywhere from “unproductive” to “deeply infuriating”, but sometimes they were known to stumble upon “actually helpful”. A few hours each day was set aside for research. Most of the time, this meant reading through the AM’s archives. Even though she’d been able to read a lot of these files before she technically started working here, Sam was still surprised by just how much there still was for her to read and discover. 

But sometimes the archives weren’t enough. And that was when her trips came in. 

After the scare with Mark taking over her ability, it had taken a while to regain some of the control she had built up. But traveling now was easier than it had been in a long time, and still getting a little easier every day. And it could even be -- fun, sometimes? After a few exhausting meetings, she had traveled not to learn, but just to get away. It could be relaxing, floating through somewhere far away and long ago.

Today, though, her planned trip was all business. The AM had done some exploratory research about how atypicals assimilated into early colonial American history. There had been a lot of careful sifting through primary documents to reach even the most tepid of conclusions, a lot of conjecture and inference and still a lot of things the AM didn’t know. 

Sam had a more direct route of gaining knowledge. 

She sat on the floor, took a deep breath and focused. 

Nothing happened. 

After a minute she readjusted her position, took another deep breath -- this one sharpened just a little bit by impatience -- and tried again. 

Still nothing. 

Sam frowned. This didn’t feel right. She’d been making so much progress with her control recently. What could have happened? Maybe there was something weighing her down. There must be some stressor -- ok, actually, she had a lot of those. But she had been dealing with them! There must be something she hadn’t thought of. 

After a minute of deliberation, she stood up. There wasn’t a lot of people Sam was willing to go to for help, but there was at least someone. Joan’s office was only a few doors down. It had been a long time since she had been a patient, but maybe it was time for another session with Dr. Bright. 

 

 

Damien called off sick the next morning. His boss didn't sound happy about it, but who cared? Damien had a golden opportunity in front of him. If he couldn't have his powers back, reliving them was the next best thing. 

He skipped breakfast and sat down on the floor. He licked his lips in anticipation. Where to visit first? That time that he convinced the landlord to give him the apartment. It had been nice, newly designed and even furnished. Unlike the garbage heap Sam had found for him. No cockroaches had ever made their way inside that place. God, he missed it.

Damien tried to picture the day the keys had been placed in his hand, and suddenly he was there. 

“I'm glad to hear you like it,” the man said to the Damien of yesteryear, who had just finished a tour. “Since you like it so much, I'll just give it to you.” 

Damien turned away to stare at the tall windows, the beautiful floors, the luxury he'd never known the price tag for until he lost everything. 

Damien had just smirked at the time. “It's okay,” he shrugged. 

What other luxuries couldn't he afford these days? Oh, nice restaurants. He had gone to a really amazing steakhouse just a few weeks before it all went wrong.

And there he was, watching himself tuck into a particularly tender cut of meat. Damien savored the smell, although he was pretty sure that he wasn't corporeal enough at the moment to steal a bite. 

“And this is Matsuzaka beef, one of the most expensive cuts we offer,” the waiter standing to the side babbled. Damien barely remembered the guy. He’d had more important things to worry about at the time, like the steak in front of him. This time, though, without a good meal to distract him, Damien actually turned to look at the waiter. The guy barely looked old enough to drink. “The meat comes from a particularly prized breed in Japan --” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Damien managed between bites. “You guys got any lobster?” 

Eager to please, the waiter said, “I'll talk to the chef and see what he can do.” 

Damien watched him walk away. Already he was getting tired of just seeing himself eat. What other memories could he revisit? This was his opportunity to compile his greatest hits -- 

The scene shifted. It was a kitchen, a large one at that. Damien couldn’t remember ever having set foot in an industrial kitchen. He looked right and left and didn't see a trace of himself. That didn’t seem right. Why was he here? What was the fun in revisiting someone else's memories?

“How could you be so stupid?” A man's voice shouted, loud enough to make Damien jump. He turned to look and saw a stranger yelling at someone. A closer look and it appeared to be the waiter from before. 

“This guest racked up close to a thousand dollar tab and then just walked away? How could you let that happen? How could you be so stupid?” 

Damien was still at the restaurant. This was the kitchen. And in what felt like a lifetime ago, he had left here just a few minutes ago. 

“I don't know.” The waiter was sniffling; no doubt he had been crying. “I'm sorry.” 

The chef rubbed his temples. “We can't afford these kind of losses. That’s it for you. Don’t bother coming back here tomorrow.” 

The waiter looked ready to protest. “Come on,” Damien muttered. “Defend yourself.” 

But of course the guy couldn’t hear him. And besides, what kind of defense could this guy really offer? “It felt like the right thing to do at the time and I don't know why?” 

The waiter closed his mouth. He turned away, took a moment to gather his stuff. No one spoke to him. He was crying, and everyone in the kitchen was pretending not to notice. 

Damien had never gone back to anywhere he'd used his ability. It had not been a deliberately decision, not really. It had simply just never occurred to him. What happened to the people he used his ability on after he was gone? That wasn’t his problem. 

His own boss had chewed him out two days before. He’d wanted to fight, but not wanted to lose the paycheck that was currently the only thing standing between him and an empty fridge.

Damien closed his eyes and opened them back in his crappy apartment. A sudden frustration hit him, and he gave one of his already limpid pillows an emotionally unsatisfying punch. 

“This new ability sucks,” he muttered angrily to himself. 

 

 

Sam caught Joan just as she was walking into her office. 

“Unfortunately, I have another patient scheduled now,” she explained, after Sam gave her the abridged version of what had happened. “But I don’t expect this session to take all that long. If you want, I can call you when I’m done.” 

“It’s fine,” Sam forced a smile. “I’ll just wait here.” 

She didn’t really want to go back to her own office. It wouldn't exactly be productive to sit and brood on her new inadequacy. Besides, there was something almost nostalgic about being back in a waiting room. It was a different room with different decor, although at least Sarah was still here. Made it feel a bit like old times. 

Maybe with help Sam would be able to regain the control those good old times had brought her.

Sam killed time by reading on her phone for the first fifteen minutes or so, but soon had to stop. Out of nowhere, it seemed, she had gotten a terrible headache. 

“Today really is not my day,” she muttered as she massaged her temples. 

And then all the lights in the room went out.

Blew out was probably a better term. There was a great crackling noise and then the room was suddenly dark. 

“Again?” Sarah sighed. “He’d been doing so well, too.” 

The office door opened. Sam could see Joan and a teenage girl peeking through the door. 

“Is everything alright here?” Joan asked. “We heard a noise -- oh, looks like we're going to have to call facilities about the lights again.” 

“I don't think that was me,” the girl next to her said quietly.

“Your control has been getting better, but control is not a linear path. These relapses are common and nothing to be ashamed of.” 

The girl shook her head. "I've lost control before, and I know what it's like when I lose control. This doesn't seem right." She looked curious. "Do you have another patient with the same ability as me?"

Dr Bright frowned. “That is a good point. But I don't think it violates too many confidentiality agreements to say that I don't see anyone else with your ability. The AM does get all types, though -- Sam, Sarah, both of you were here the whole time. Did anyone else walk by or come inside?” 

Sarah shook her head. 

A sudden, terrifying thought had occurred to Sam. 

Her headache was gone. 

She turned to the girl. “Do you get headaches when you use your ability?”

The other patient frowned. “It's been a while, but at the beginning -- how did you know?” 

Sam took a deep breath. It felt ragged against her lungs. “I think something strange is happening to me,” she confessed. This was impossible. Right? She’d been doing research. Abilities didn’t change. There had been no documented case of abilities changing. 

Joan’s tone was sharp as she said, “Sam. What do you think is happening?” 

“I lost my own abilities, and it seems like I may have -- somehow gained someone else's.” 

It sounded crazy when she said it out loud. Joan started to frown. “You think you've gained EMP abilities? This seems highly improbable --” 

“When I was just starting out,” the girl chirped, “I practiced causing sparks. Nothing too big. Just a few sparks, contained in my hands." Before waiting for any confirmation, she drew her hands together. Sparks jumped between her fingers. Joan was looking skeptical, but Sam didn't see any harm in trying. "Here goes nothing," she sighed. 

She closed her eyes and focused. Something was definitely different. Her ability -- her own ability -- had never left her feeling like this. It was a switch, on or off, nothing in between. But now she could feel something building inside her, flowing through her just inside her skin. And if she focused, she could direct that energy, force it into her hands -- 

There was a quiet crackling as lightning danced between her fingers.

A long silence fell over the waiting room. “Oh my God,” Joan finally whispered. Then, always the doctor, she straightened up and began to diagnose. “So, let's walk through exactly what happened. You tried to use your abilities this afternoon and couldn't do it. So you went to my office, and now it appears you have an entirely different ability.” 

“I must have switched with your patient somehow.” That was an awfully big 'somehow’, but that was all Sam had at the moment. 

Joan pursed her lips. “If you had switched abilities, it would stand to reason that Lou would have your abilities. But only a few minutes ago, she briefly lost control and the lights went off in my room. That's why we came outside, to assess the damage. If it had really been a switch, Lou would presumably have traveled back in time.”

“So it's not a switch. I just -- mirrored her abilities somehow.” Realization hit Sam hard. She could feel the blood drain from her face. “Oh my god.”

It took Joan only a half second longer to put the pieces together. “You need to call Mark right away.”

 

 

The band had nothing scheduled for today so Mark had taken the opportunity to stay in his hotel room to ostensibly look over all the photos he had taken so far. He had, in reality, fallen down a YouTube rabbit hole when his phone went off. He frowned when he saw it was Sam calling. They talked regularly -- if sometimes awkwardly -- but usually those calls were much later in the day, when Sam had finished with work for the day. 

“Hey Sam,” Mark answered, trying to keep his voice call even as he feared the worse. “What's up?”

Sam asked in one breath, “Do you still have your abilities?” 

“Uh.” If anyone but Sam had asked this question, Mark might have thought it was the set up to a joke. “Probably? I guess I haven't really felt anything different today. But it could just be there's no atypicals in the area.”

“So you haven't traveled back in time or anything like that?” 

Mark's first answer was just a bitter, sputtering laugh. He still remembered the time he had gained control of Sam's abilities. He wished he didn't. “No,” he finally managed to force out. “I'm nowhere near you, I don't have your ability.” 

He didn't intend to sound so relieved. “Oh,” Sam replied. Just a small word, but layered with an audible pain.

“Sam,” Mark started. He didn't know what he planned to say, but he knew he had to say something to make things better. 

“I guess that's good,” Sam continued, as if he had not said anything. “Although there went one really good theory about what happened to me today.” 

“What happened?”

Sam recited the whole story of her strange day at the AM. Goosebumps rose on Mark's arm. “So you think there was some kind of switch that happened today,” he concluded for her. “Except I feel absolutely nothing.”

Sam made a contemplative noise. “You're sure you haven't felt anything today?”

“I guess I went out walking for lunch.” Mark had gone out looking for a restaurant that would fit his budget. He'd had to walk quite a ways. “I don't remember feeling anything unusual.” Even in the static of the call Mark could hear the gears of Sam's mine turning. He still loved her for it, even if he shouldn't. “But that’s not enough to say one way or the other, right? I mean. Maybe if I walked around the whole town I would know for sure. But it's not like atypicals are _everywhere_. I did meet an atypical yesterday, but I don't know what her ability was. That's -- yeah, that's the last ability I remember feeling of someone else's.”

“You said you met them yesterday? And today was the first time I tried using my ability and I couldn't. Maybe this person did something? I mean, this sounds crazy, but if you couldn't feel what they were doing at the time, maybe _this_ is their ability.”

“Do we even know what _this_ is?” 

Mark countered.

“Joan thought maybe we had traded abilities. And I definitely have your ability, but you don't have mine.” There was a slow realization in Sam's voice. “A trade doesn't have to be between two people. There could be a third party involved.”

“A third party?” Sam sounded like she had a suspicion of who this could be.

Mark was about to ask for some more information when Sam said, “I have to go There's someone I need to talk to. Call me if you learn anything new, okay? Love you.”

The line went dead. 

Mark stared at his phone for a very long minute.

He and Sam had had the messy “let’s see other people” conversation just before he left for the tour. But he hadn't actually seen anyone since and he suspected neither had Sam. But to make this distance feel a little more deliberate, they had agreed to stop these casual “I love you”s. For Sam to forget that meant her mind must really be somewhere else. 

If Sam thought there had been a three way switch, Mark didn't feel like he had any new abilities. Maybe he had switched with someone who wasn't atypical.

...Or maybe an atypical who had lost his powers. 

Mark rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. No wonder Sam had sounded distracted. He hated himself, though, for how little the answer his mind supplied had surprised him.

 

 

Damien had by now largely stopped jumping back in time. He'd been able to stop a few hours ago. But then he would walk around his apartment, notice a patch of mold, reflect on his bank account balance (or lack thereof) and the temptation to just take just a _quick_ peek back would hit him.

After about a half dozen attempts, he'd been forced to concede that he could no longer jump back into his own memories. Most often he saw the memories of the people who had run into him. Wait staff who lost their job or had their pay docked for meals he barely remembered. The car salesperson who broke down crying to her wife because she'd somehow given away one of their most expensive models and now their anniversary plans were going to have to be put on hold.

There were always tears, denial, confusion. It was awkward. Damien had never had to think about these people, and now he couldn't stop. 

At least it had made him hate his new apartment slightly less. After all, while someone had given him this place, it wasn't because of his ability. And he was pretty sure Sam hadn't gone crying to Mark after she set up Damien here. Unless she shed tears of joy. Actually, that seemed likely.

Damien had gotten a few glimpses of Mark during his travels. Those were the worst, although they hurt in a different way. Every time he lost control of where he had visited, Damien both hoped and feared he would end up visiting their last big fight again. After everything he had seen today, Damien suspected he knew now what Mark had been hoping to hear from him that day.

The sound of his phone ringing brought him back to the present. Damien stared for a moment in disbelief. No one ever called him. There were only a few people who even knew this number, and almost all of them hated him. 

Damien reached for the phone and couldn't help but smirk when he saw who was calling. Speak of the Devil. 

“Samantha Barnes,” he said. He tried to conjure a tone of velvety confidence, but instead it just sounded like he had just strained a muscle. Oh well. It really was that kind of day. "My personal Blue Fairy."

“Hello, Dami -- what do you mean, Blue Fairy?” 

“You know, from that Disney movie? She tried to make that weird puppet have a conscience?” 

“I know who the Blue Fairy is,” Sam huffed. Less than a minute in and she already sounded annoyed. Finally some familiar territory for Damien. "I also know," Sam continued, "that the 'weird puppet’, as you called him, is named Pinocchio. But that still doesn't explain you called me the Blue Fairy.”

Evidently Sam had decided to play dumb. That was fine. Damien understood exactly what was going on. "I assume that was why you were calling me. To check up on how I was using your abilities.”

In the long pause that followed, Damien began to consider that he might have made a mistake.

“So they really did go to you,” Damien could hear Sam biting down a laugh. “It really is a three way switch. And you thought somehow _I_ did this? Just to what -- somehow show you a lesson? That makes absolutely no sense -- not to mention it's also the absolutely most self-absorbed thing I've heard all day.”

Okay, maybe it had been a self-centered theory. But there was only one thing Sam had said that he really cared about.

“There was a three way switch?” he asked. His throat felt suddenly very dry. 

“Yes, there was," Sam sighed. "Did you listen to anything else I said?” 

"Yeah, yeah, in retrospect, I can see how my theory had a few holes in. Is the third person involved Mark?

There was a long pause before Sam answered, "Yes, he is."

This time Damien took a little bit longer to run through his theory. If Mark was involved and he had switched abilities with Sam, Sam must have switched with Mark. But that would mean that Mark --

"Did Mark get my abilities?" he managed to croak out. 

"I bet you would like that." The contempt in Sam's voice was palpable. "Mark gets your abilities back, you're one step closer to getting them back yourself."

“No,” Damien said at once. Even to his own ears, the denial came off as desperate. He stopped talking for a minute, hoping Sam would fill the silence so he wouldn't have to confess any more. But she kept quiet. Eventually Damien couldn't take it anymore. “I don't want Mark to have my abilities. After what I've seen today, I'm not sure I want anyone to.” 

It was a difficult thing to admit out loud. “What do you mean, after what happened today?" Sam asked.

“I just spent the past few hours revisiting all my greatest hits and seeing how actually from, uh, certain perspectives, they may have not been so great after all.” 

To his complete surprise and consternation, Sam laughed. “You're just realizing this?” And then, “Wait, that was what you used my ability for?” 

Damien blinked. “I mean, it's not like I was trying to learn a lesson or anything.” 

“It's just -- a little different from my experience, that's all.” Sam sounded more amused than judgmental. It occurred to Damien suddenly that this was the first time he had heard Sam happy rather than frustrated, angry, or both. 

He was annoyed and embarrassed to realize he actually liked the sound. 

“I'll tell you what,” Sam continued, as Damien tried to fend off distracting thoughts. “Mark is about a day or so drive away. This might be easier to sort out if we all drove there -- "

“My car got impounded," Damien interrupted. 

“What?” 

“Well apparently there's these things called parking tickets --”

“Did you seriously not know that? Never mind. Do not answer that." Sam hesitated. "Oh god, I can't believe I'm suggesting this but -- I guess I could drive you.” 

“Oh.” In a day full of surprises, hearing those words come from Sam's mouth was probably the biggest surprise. Damien blinked a few times before pressing, "Are you sure?"

Damien had just spent the day watching people regret the things they had done for him. And now Sam was volunteering to be in an enclosed space with him for several hours, and it wasn't even the fault of his ability.

"You know," Sam replied, sounding a little skeptical herself. "I'm sure you could make me regret saying this, but I don't absolutely hate the idea right now.” 

 

 

Mark told the band that he had to leave for a few days. “Medical emergency,” was the exact term he used. In some sense it was technically true and, even better, the band just wished him luck and didn't ask for a lot of details. He left with the promise of returning in a few days and then he drove off with only a half baked plan to find Catherine again. Mark really hoped she might have some answers.

He was on the road when Sam texted that she was on her way -- with Damien in tow. 

“We'll figure this out,” was how she ended her message.

Mark wasn't so sure about that. But then again it felt like he wasn't sure of anything these days. His feelings about Sam were a knot of love, hurt, longing and regret that he doubted could ever be fully untangled. At least he had felt confident when he broke up with Damien -- except how could it be a break up if they had never dated?

Three hours separated Mark from his destination. He tried telling himself that Sam had a plan. But three hours was a long time for his doubts to simmer. He didn't know if he was more nervous, excited, or afraid about this strange reunion with his two maybe exes. 

It was dark by the time Mark arrived and he checked into the first motel with complimentary wifi he found. Kayla had mentioned that Catherine was a big fan of the band on Instagram, so he started looking for her online. 

“We're done for the night,” a text from Sam popped up as he was searching.

Then, “Sam says we'll probably reach you in the early afternoon tomorrow.” 

Again, “This is Damien btw”

Mark was in the middle of trying to think of a devastatingly dry and witty comeback about how, yes, he could guess that, when his phone buzzed again

“Hi :)” 

He deleted his previous text and just sent back, “hi damien”. 

 

 

The GPS said it was a six hour drive to where Mark said he had met this strange atypical. With Damien in the car, it might as easily have been half a world away. 

They sat in awkward silence for a while. “I’m sorry that I was a dick,” Damien finally said, completely unprompted but still far too late. 

“You threatened to kill me,” her knuckles went white against the steering wheel. Damien had her ability, and with Mark’s ability, she could feel the traces of it in her mind. Not as strongly as when it had been her own ability, but strong enough to make her nervous about where an emotional conversation could take them. Very literally. 

Damien doesn't say anything, so Sam added, half to herself, “I think that's a little more than just being a dick.” 

“I didn’t --” Damien started, then stopped. He took a deep breath, and said, “Yes, you’re right.” 

Sam was so surprised she almost drove the car into the ditch by the side of the highway. 

“What?”

“You heard me.” There was the ghost of a smile on Damien’s lips, but it seemed almost perfunctory. “You’re right. That’s a bit more than me just being a dick. I told myself that it wasn’t a really big deal because I wasn’t going to go through with it, but --” There was a long pause as Sam waited to see how that sentence could possibly end. But Damien just shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

It wasn't the greatest apology in the world, but Sam was still struggling to wrap her head around the idea of a Damien who even knew what the word ‘sorry’ meant. “I didn’t think you had it in you to apologize,” she finally laughed.

Somewhat to her surprise, Damien seemed to share in her amusement. “I didn’t. Not really. Not until --” 

“You travelled.” Sam completed the sentence for him. Without even thinking about it, she caught herself doing the breathing exercise she learned as a patient a long time ago in Dr. Bright’s office. “I’m glad someone found a good use for my ability,” she muttered bitterly. 

Damien made a surprised noise. “I thought you liked your ability. Actually, no, I’m sure you like having your ability, because if you didn’t, there was no way you would be in this car with me right now.”

“I can still turn around,” she said, but without any bark to her bite. “You know, my ability killed my parents.” Damien didn't say anything. That was smart of him; what was there to say to that, really? 

“But at the same time,” Sam said, after a deep breath. “Yeah. You're right. I want my ability. Desperately. Even just sitting in the same car as you, with Mark's ability, I can feel it and -- it just feels right.” She laughed again, but the sound was hollow. The way it always sounded like when she was laughing at herself. “That's pretty messed up, right?”

“I lost my parents because of my ability too. Not -- in the same way, though. But I still lost them,” Damien said slowly. “But when I lost my ability, I was in denial about it for so long. It's still really hard to think of myself as not having it."

“With everything you’ve seen, do you still feel that way?” 

Damien scratched at the back of his neck. It was a difficult question for him, Sam supposed. But he wore his confusion so openly, in a way that Sam could not imagine. She almost envied him that. “I’m not sure,” he said after a few seconds. “Being without it has made me realize some stuff. Okay, a lot of stuff. So that was probably, I don't know, good or something.” Sam started to frown and Damien snorted. “Fine. Fine! It was good. I'll admit it. But at the same time --”

“It’s a part of you.” 

“Yeah.” 

“There were years of my life when I would have given anything not to have my ability anymore,” Sam sighed. “I missed out on so much of my life because I was afraid, I didn’t have control. And now it’s something that I’ve gotten used to.”

"Sometimes it's what hurt us that shapes us the most, I guess."

They fell into a silence again, but this time it didn't feel so oppressively awkward. In fact, Sam would almost have called it comfortable, which was the strangest part.

 

 

They stopped once Sam found it difficult to keep her eyes open, at a cheap motel that didn’t ask too many questions and whose beds were _probably_ bug free. 

“Wow, real splurge,” Damien said, eyeing the peeling wallpaper. “Where next, the Ritz?” 

“You could always have chipped in for a nicer place, Damien,” Sam reminded him. Damien took it as a cue to shut up. Sam wasn’t really looking at him. She sat in front of the mirror, humming slightly as she took her hair out of a ponytail. For a second, Damien felt like he did when he had travelled: a ghost, only watching, not quite invited in. For such a simple action, there was something almost intimate about watching Sam take down her hair. After all, only yesterday Sam would never have let him see her so unguarded. 

_Is this cheating on Mark?_ he wondered. It was a stupid thought. It’s not like they’ve done anything. And Damien’s not a teenager anymore, dumbstruck and tongue-tied just from being near a girl. 

(Except he was feeling that way, just a bit.)

(And why did it feel like _he_ was cheating on Mark too, just a bit? Sam was the one actually dating the guy.) 

Damien tried to weed out these treacherous thoughts before they could take root. 

“Before we go to bed, there was something I wanted to do,” Sam turned back around to stare at him. 

“What?” Damien’s voice had gone embarrassingly hoarse.

“There was a place I wanted to show you.” 

Damien tried to think of a joke, a snide comment, anything he could say that would put some more distance between them. But his mind was blank. He nodded mutely. 

The hotel room faded away. Instead of sitting on the rock solid motel mattress, Damien found himself sitting in tall grass. There was a brisk wind, and it carried the distant crash of the sea to their ears. 

“Northern Scotland, probably around 320 BC or so.” Sam looked around, a faint smile on her lips. “This was before the Romans invaded. It’s not exactly the most peaceful time in Scottish history, but I’ve never been disturbed when I’ve gone here before.” 

The salt brushed against Damien’s lips as he took in the grassy expanse and the vastness of the sky. Sam was right -- there didn’t seem to be anyone around. 

“It's beautiful,” he croaked. Damien cleared his throat, hoping Sam was too distracted by everything the landscape had to offer to pay him much mind. “I didn’t realize --” he started. Sam turned back to him, eyebrows raised. “Uh. I didn’t realize you could go so many places.” 

“You only went back in your own life, and the lives of people who knew you, right?” Damien nodded. Sam bit her lip, and then appeared to finish some internal calculation. “What about Mark?” 

Damien turned back to look at the grassy knolls so he wouldn't have to look at Sam as he gave his answer. “No. There was some painful stuff I jumped to, but -- that was probably my limit.” 

Sam nodded, like she somehow understood. Damien was about to try and pry, but Sam interrupted to save Damien from himself. “I used to jump to awful places. I thought it was just that I had this awful, destructive ability. I didn’t realize I was doing it to myself.” Her voice went soft. “It’s your ability, at least for right now. You can travel back to any place, any time that you want.” 

Damien considered for a long minute. 

Any place. 

Any time. 

The scene around them shifted. Once again, he was in the backseat of a car. This time, Sam sat next to him. Damien’s voice floated back from the driver’s seat. 

Mark answered from the passenger seat. 

A world of options before him, and Damien had chosen to go back to the night he broke Mark out of the AM. 

Damien sucked the back of his teeth. Sam pursed her lips. The scene shifted again. This time they stood at the edge of a forest full of trees so tall that Damien couldn’t see where they ended and the sky began. 

“Maybe I should pick the destinations.” There was an edge in Sam’s voice. Damien winced, but he couldn’t quite blame her. 

“I’m still working some things out,” he said weakly. 

Sam’s expression softened. “I think we all are.” 

 

 

Mark had messaged Catherine on Instagram and she responded within the hour. 

“I'm glad you reached out to me. Yeah, I know what's going on. But this might be easier to discuss in person,” she said. “If you're free tomorrow morning, I know this cute cafe where we'll be able to talk and not be overheard.”

Mark privately wondered what people would think if they did overhear. It's not like Mark understood what was going on, and he was directly involved.

Mark arrived ten minutes early the next day, got himself a coffee, and had started to text Sam and Damien the details when Catherine arrived. 

“I thought you and the band would have left town by now,” she said as she took the seat across from him. 

“I came back,” Mark said. “I had to figure out what happened to me and my, uh, friends.” 

To his complete and utter shock, Catherine started to laugh. 

“Hasn't it been great?” She asked, with a wide smile.

Mark blinked. “Uh. No. Not really.” 

The smile faded. “Really?” Catharine looked skeptical. “That doesn't sound right.”

“Two of my exes have been driving since yesterday to try and meet me here and reverse -- whatever this is. How is that supposed to be great?” 

“My ability affected two of your exes?” Catherine leaned forward, clearly enjoying this in a way that Mark was absolutely not. 

“What even is your ability?”

Catherine propped her elbow on the table and rested her cheek on her hand. “My ability is supposed to switch your abilities with the people you love. Sounds like you've got some stuff you need to work through.”

“I --,” Mark opened his mouth to protest. “Okay, yes, I absolutely have some -- issues -- but how --” He closed his mouth abruptly and shook his head. “Your ability is seriously, what, a love spell? But just for atypicals?” 

“I mean, I can switch anyone's abilities. That's why I told you that you were a lot like me: my ability also only works on special people.” 

Mark took a steadying breath. Then, for good measure, he took another. Okay. The ability to switch abilities. Mark had seen a lot of atypicals in the AM; he knew this one didn't even push the boundaries of weird, all things considered. But it still didn't make sense. 

“Where does this love aspect come in?” 

Catharine shrugged. “You could say I've always been something of a hopeless romantic. I love romcoms, fairy tale endings --” 

Mark remembered her gushing about How You Look Tonight. “Love songs,” he provided. Jessica nodded in agreement. 

“I found out last year that I could switch abilities without having to be very specific about who was being switched. A good friend of mine, she's special too. She can control water. It's pretty cool. And one day I remember thinking that she really needed to meet someone else, someone like her -- and she ended up swapping abilities with this other girl in town, and now they're dating! It just seemed like a fun bit of matchmaking. This, though.” She gestured vaguely towards Mark. “This seems like it's your own thing to work out.” 

Well, she wasn't exactly wrong. But that wasn't quite what he wanted to hear. “Can you fix it?” 

That got him a smirk. “I'm pretty sure only you can fix this.” 

“Reverse it, then.”

“Are you sure?” Catherine frowned. "That seems like no fun." Mark crossed his arms in front of him on the table. "Catherine, nothing about this has been fun for me." Catherine appeared to concede the point. "Fine. Well, the next time you see these two -- whoever they are -- everything will go back to normal. I swear it. Now," she made to stand, "if that's everything, I should probably be heading out."

Mark remained sitting long after she had left, nursing his drink even after it had gone unpleasantly cold.

“Back to normal,” he said weakly to himself. “Sure.” 

Whatever 'normal' meant. 

 

 

 

Sam called to tell Mark they had arrived, and he mentioned that he was currently at a cafe and could meet them there. 

“I already met the person whose ability caused all this,” he said, his voice a poor imitation of excitement. “Might as well just get all my emotionally draining conversations done here.”

About an hour and they were crowded around a comically small circular table. Mark was three sugary expresso bombs in, and thanking the powers that be that he wasn't around anything stronger. 

“So,” Mark started, alternating between looking at Sam, and Damien, and not wanting to look at either. 

He didn't understand why they seemed to be almost comfortable sitting next to each other. 

“So,” he started again, clearing his throat. “I have good news and bad news.”

“Good news first,” Damien said.

“Bad news first,” Sam said at the same time. 

Mark ran his fingers through his hair. “Ok, I actually only have one item of news. I just don't know whether it's good or bad.” A long stare from them both. “Our powers were apparently switched by the power of love, and so I asked --”

He wasn't able to finish because Damien had started to laugh. "Are you kidding me?"

“I know it sounds hard to believe,” Mark sigh. “But. Uh. I talked to the woman who did it, and, yeah, that's apparently how it works.”

“Fascinating," Sam piped in. "I've read a lot of the AM files and I've never heard of anything like that. Is the person still here? I'd like to ask them some questions --” 

Admiration and exhausted tore Mark apart. “Sam, please, I know you love your job, but I don't think this is the time.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” 

“Anyway. So, uh, the person said that she reversed it, so we should be all set --” 

“Wait, you said this was based on love,” Sam interrupted. “So what, Damien got my abilities and I got yours because -- you love both of us? Or because we both love you?” 

Mark thought the blood was probably burning hot enough in his cheeks to register as a secondary ability. “Something like that,” he all but coughed out. 

Damien had crossed his arms. “If fixing this situation involves us talking about feelings any more, I'd rather keep Sam's abilities.”

“Hey,” Sam gave his arm a good-natured smack. “I want those back.”

“At what cost, though,” Damien muttered. 

Mark stared at the both of them. “You two seem -- closer,” he said. Damien and Sam stared at each other. Previously Mark was confident that action alone would have been enough to set them at each other's throats. 

Now, Sam was smiling and Damien followed suit. 

“I learned a little more about him.” 

“I learned a lot more about Sam.” When Sam raised an eyebrow, Damien added, “Ok, fine, and maybe a little bit more about myself.” 

Mark leaned back against the cheap plastic of his chair. “Huh,” was all he could think to say. 

“Are you alright?” Sam asked.

Damien, perhaps always a little better at identifying the worst of people, grinned wide enough to show all his teeth. "Are you jealous?" 

“No,” Mark said at once. Then, “Yes. I don't know. Maybe.” 

“Well, I believe that does cover every possible answer,” Damien lifted his eyebrows. 

“I am jealous,” Mark clarified. “Just not in the way you think. I don't mind that you two are closer now or anything. I'm just having a hard time seeing how you guys were able to put everything behind you. Because there was a lot of stuff.” 

Damien appeared to be, unusually, at a loss for words at that. Sam worried her bottom lip for a moment before answering. "I think the answer is that we didn't put it behind us, though."

Mark frowned. “Well, it doesn't seem to be in front of you.” 

“It all still happened.” Sam acknowledged. “Damien threatened to kill me. He apologized about it --” 

“Wait,” Mark interrupted. Somehow this was the most difficult part to believe. “Damien apologized?”

Damien just shrugged. “Stranger things have been known to happen.”

“He apologized, but that doesn't change what he did. It's just up to me to figure out how to deal with it going forward, I guess.” 

Mark looked at the both of them. He hated to admit it, but Catherine was right: he did still love them both. It was a strange, jagged love perhaps, but after everything he had been through there was not much room in his life left for normalcy.

“Well,” Mark said. “You're both here now. And it's a long way back, so maybe you two can stay a while.” 

Mark had taken this job to make a break from his past. But the thing about the past was that it had a way of staying with you.

Damien and Sam both smiled at him from across the table. 

Mark decided he was glad his past had come back for him.


End file.
